“I’m sorry. Say again?” I asked. I was going to pay attention this time. This was work and work was important.
“I said today I want to focus on interviewing customers.”
“That was the plan, yes.” Stan walked behind Glenn. “So get on that and let me know when you’re ready for me.” I stepped around Glenn. He’d give me crap later for it, but I only had a short period of time left in this place, and I was going to make it count. Besides, Glenn needed something to razz me about. It was like it gave him purpose or something.
“Hey.” Stan’s face lit up as I met him near the counter. “Want a coffee?”
“Yeah.” Because smooth I was not this morning. “I mean, I’d like that. Thanks.”
“Want something fancy like we did yesterday or just your regular?” Regular. Something you would say if you were paying attention. Stan was paying attention—to me.
“Regular is perfect.” He turned to grab a mug and I had to force myself not to stare at his perfect ass. He made two, although the grounds were different for his, and set mine in front of me and brought his own to his lips. “Dinner was nice.” He spoke over the lip of his cup.
“Dessert was better.” I took a sip of my coffee, loving the slight tinge of pink on Stan’s face. “Maybe we can have dinner again?” I was playing it cool. I was so not cool. My heart was pounding in my chest as if the words that were about to leave his lips held the power to save or break me. And really? They did hold the power to break me, and that should terrify me, yet somehow it didn’t. It just made me sweat a little—fine, a lot.
He set his cup down, his eyes scanning the area. “Ms. Bea still out of town or were you thinking...like, out to eat?”
“She’s back,” his shoulders slumped. “But I was thinking maybe...maybe we could cook dinner together at your place? I could bring the ingredients. It could be fun?” It hadn’t been my plan, but now that I had said it, my stomach had butterflies.
There was something about creating a meal together with someone that was magical, and not even in a sexual way, although I wouldn’t be turning that down. No, it was magical when I made cookies with my grandfather as a small child and when I cooked alongside my favorite chef in one of my first episodes, and even when I brewed coffee with Stan yesterday. Turning ingredients into more was its own kind of wizardry, and it never wore old.
“Yeah. That sounds...nice.” His eyes found something interesting just over my shoulder, and sure enough when I turned my head, there stood Glenn.
“I was hoping to talk to you both about today.” He stepped up to the counter eyeing our coffees. “And maybe getting a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” Stan went to work making Glenn’s coffee without even asking what kind. No wonder he was so good at his job if he already knew what we all liked after such a short amount of time.
I ended up spending the day interviewing customer after customer about Café Om. We talked coffee, the location and its history, and their initial fears of it moving into their town. All of it was interesting, and some of it would make excellent television, but my focus was elsewhere.
I’d planned and replanned the menu at least five times in my head as I chatted endlessly with customers, Glenn feeding me the questions as he often did.
I wanted dinner to be simple, yet needing both of us working side by side, and nothing that took too long or gave us stinky breath. Every time I thought of the perfect dish, something would prove me wrong from the difficulty of finding the ingredients in the small town to the necessity of a special utensil to the length of cooking time.
And then I got an idea.
“Hey, Glenn,” we were between interviews and we really had plenty. I didn’t understand Glenn’s need to keep going other than appeasing the swarms of people who were interested in being on television. “I just need to run back to the B&B for a few minutes. Can you hold down the fort?”
“Go.” He shook his head. “I’ll do more interviews and we can do them with only one person in the frame so you can do your bit after.”
I thanked him and ran off, hoping to catch Ms. Bea and to beg her a ginormous favor.
Eleven
Stan
We’d arranged for Chet to come over at 7:30 which would give me time to close the coffee shop and get cleaned up. At 7:20, I jumped in the shower, thinking I had plenty of time.
But I had a head full of shampoo and the water was pounding on my head when a muffled sound reached my ears. What’s that? Turning off the water, there was a thump followed by Chet yelling, “Stan! You there?”
Shit! He’s here already.
Wrapping a towel around my hips, I padded to the door and flung it open. He was leaning on the wall with two huge shopping bags at his feet. His eyes widened and he nodded. “Nice. Are we having a toga party? Shall I get my gear off?”
My cheeks burned and both hands gripped the towel. Not sure why. He’d seen my dick and had it in his mouth. But that was then, and now with the last rays of the sun streaming in the window, I wasn’t sure how to act during daylight hours. “You’re early.”
“Mmmm. Bad habit.” He heaved the bags inside, and after glancing around said, “Nice.”
He was being polite. The apartment, like the rest of the building, was old, but had been redecorated. And it was furnished with a bed, sofa, table and chairs, along with a fully fitted kitchen. But I’d done nothing to it. I’d had no time to stamp my personality on it. “It’s home but not really my home yet.”
“I get it. My place still has boxes in one room and I’ve been there three years.”
That made me feel a little better, though he had an excuse with his constant travel.
“You might want to cover up once we start cooking. Wouldn’t want any nasty burns to ruin the evening—or your life.” His eyes were on my crotch.
“Oh, right. Be right back.” My trembling fingers had me tripping over my own feet as I put on my underwear. Oral sex was one thing, but the possibility of something more after dinner had me giddy and scared. It’d been a while since I’d been with anyone, and Chet had that annoying habit of making me feel safe and prickly at the same time. A constant push and pull.
But I couldn’t blame him. It was me reacting to his presence. One minute I wanted him to fuck me senseless and the next I was considering hiding under the bed.
“What are we cooking?” I wandered into the kitchen and peered in the bags. “I’m hungry.”
Chet raked his eyes over me and mumbled something about dessert as he put a hand on my hip.
“I really am starving.” Wanting to cook and then eat was giving my conflicted emotions a time-out. Besides, I did want to spend time with Chet when we weren’t in bed sucking one another off.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“What was it? Your scent’s scrambling my thoughts and it’s hard to concentrate.” He wriggled his hips and broke the tension.
I giggled, and we unpacked the bags. “I’m guessing lasagna.”
“Yep.”